My wet hair kept
bumping into my right eye until I pushed it back into the flopping wet mop. It
was harder to do this on a treadmill, my feet gaining traction on the rubber as
I flicked my hand up quickly. I pushed my earbuds deeper in.
A line of black,
mechanical treadmills faced the glass wall. There were only a few treadmills
taken, girls in spandex and bright blue tank tops walking with their ipads in
front of them. I wondered if my shoulders bounced too much, if I looked like a
slinky rolling down a staircase. I began to forget what I was doing with my
hands.
It was harder to
see the freshman on the quad. The sun was setting now, catching on the tall
dorm buildings. The grass wasn’t the lush green I had remembered it and the
shirtless boys jumped for Frisbees as their girlfriends sat in sundresses under
the tree. Their bodies seemed like rubber bands that stretched and coiled,
snapping back to their bare white ankles.
I would have to
stop listening to this album in a couple weeks, the songs becoming more of a
narrative than an anthem. I would wake up with my hands curled under my quads
and my stomach a weight and my body pillow tucked behind me. I’d throw up in
the bathroom upstairs whose floors were painted with pubic hairs and spilt toothpaste.
I’d throw up because of the combinations of alcohol, the smell of the house,
and the fear I would bump into her on my way to work.
As the sun clipped
the edge of the dorm and the Frisbee throwers walked to grab their tossed aside
sandals. my hand reached out and pushed the dial of the treadmill. The quad
was dark and the buildings remained, stone and resolute as the orange lights
began to flicker on around them. Soon students would be emerging with water
bottles full of neon liquid. Soon I would collapse in the gym locker room bathroom
and use toilet paper to wipe the sweat from my eyes and my brow and the hair on the back of my neck.
I turned up the
speed on the treadmill and could only hear my feet thumping on the rubber.
Starting mid-workout is a good place to begin. You have a great way of setting up the location and also the weather that day.
ReplyDeleteThe only point that doesn't work for me is when you mention the album you were listening to. It's a good detail but feels out of place with the rest of the paragraph. I'm not sure what you mean by "becoming more of a narrative than an anthem," but if it effects the way you run you should specify what this album in particular does.
I'd like to hear more about your collapse in the bathroom. If you had the proud pain that sometimes comes after a workout or the "why do I even bother" pain that more often comes after a workout. For me at least that seems like the better place to end.
This was a great starting point to begin your story. The description of your surrounding is great. I would like to know more about the album you are listening to and why you feel that you will have to stop listening to it. I am a bit confused about the bathroom floor, toothpaste alcohol smell incident. Your ending is a bit vague about turning up the treadmill I would like to know more about the reason or reason's you decide to turn it up.
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